I glare at him.
"Here's the thing, G—" Lorcan leans against the foyer wall, arms crossed, still looking far too pleased with himself. "I've known ya for what, seventeen years? Watched ya catalogue people like spreadsheets. Seen ya reduce entire negotiations tocost-benefit analysis. Witnessed ya treat women like quarterly earnings reports with legs. And now?—"
He gestures between Emmaleen and me, his grin widening.
"—now yer standin' in my foyer, covered in blood, lookin' like ya went twelve rounds with a cement mixer, and what do ya do? Do ya lead with strategy? Threat assessment? Tactical positioning?"
"Get to the point, Ó Fearghail."
"No, G. Ya reciteterza rima. Dante's fuckin' rhyme scheme. Three octopus hearts, and ocean veils, and beaks squeezin' through stone walls or whatever poetic shite that was. It's brilliant. Demented, but brilliant."
He laughs—genuinely laughs.
"The lads at Auggies would've lost their collective minds. Remember that? When Brother Thomas tried to make us memorize Donne for Lent? Ya spent six weeks arguin' the structural flaws in 'Death Be Not Proud' like ya were peer-reviewin' a dissertation on market inefficiencies. Never once admitted yalikedit."
"I didn't."
"Liar."
I tighten my grip on Emmaleen's waist.
"And yet here ya are," Lorcan continues, still grinning like he's won something. "The man who weaponizes silence, the king of cold calculation—reduced to love sonnets and metaphorical cephalopods. Father Patrick would bedelighted."
Emmaleen is smirking now too. "He's not wrong."
Jino breaks up our light moment by stepping forward, his voice sharp and commanding. "How the fuck did you survive walking into Luca LaRiccia's compound?"
I meet his eyes. "I told him the truth."
"Which truth?" Lorcan asks, his tone careful.
"Rico broke into my pool house. Raped my woman. Murdered her." I pause. "That's why he needed to die."
The room goes completely silent.
Emmaleen's body tenses against mine, but I don't look down at her. I keep my gaze locked on Jino, watching him process the implications.
"Emmaleen is dead?" Jino asks slowly, realization dawning.
"Yes."
"No witness."
"Correct."
Jino exhales, his shoulders dropping slightly. "So… she's safe now."
"That was the idea."
The silence that follows is absolute—thick and heavy. Everyone's processing. Everyone's calculating. Everyone's realizing that the entire equation just changed.
And in that stillness, my grip tightens fractionally on Emmaleen's waist.
Because I'm suddenly, acutely aware that she might be doing the same calculation.
That the reason she stayed—the reason she knelt, the reason she submitted, the reason she let me collar her like a possession—wasn't justwant.
It wasnecessity.
